OneMan Show
by Deathofme
Summary: Oneshot. Rated for one scene graphic imagery. The moment of House's imminent end, and the labored conversation that ensues.


**A/N **Oneshot. Wow, has it been a while since I've written a fic. But I was in the mood to write something, and this past ep of House he's been a lot meaner and aggressive, and this image has been kicking around in my head for awhile. Not the best thing I've done, more of an excercise in brain-dumping. But, feels good to write again, thanks a lot I hope you enjoy. Please read and review!

ONE-MAN SHOW

* * *

"Allison."

Cameron looked up when her name was called. She had made fast friends with the paramedics on night shift, and it was the first time in a long time that people addressed her by her first name. The other medic on duty with her tonight's name was Ricky. He had an endearing smile, a small family (two daughters) and a dog.

"Pack up those defib. paddles, we've been dispatched."

"Alright."

She nodded her head, taking a quick swipe to curl her hair around her ear and grabbed the bag with the paddles. She quickly loaded it into the ambulance and closed the doors behind her. Ricky drove off and turned on the sirens. They were eerie in the night and she glanced out the window with her usual worry. What poor soul was in need of their assistance tonight?

Life as a paramedic was hard. She didn't have the luxury of time or tests. She was up at all odd hours of the night, and being on call was usually grabbed at the most random moments to be on duty. With the other paramedics on her shift, (Ricky, Candice, an Alice, Dan and Will) she saw some of the most horrific things. It was challenging, because they had to do their job quickly. They had to make the right decisions in split seconds. She loved it.

She had moved out to California for this job. She had to ask Dr. Cuddy for the reference letter. House only glared at her and told her being a paramedic was under her skill level. She hadn't bothered to wait for another answer or to ask twice.

Chase went to another hospital, one of prestigious value in New York. His salary was higher and he was treated with more respect. Foreman was with a neurological research and development team at Johns Hopkins. He had left Princeton Plainsboro after a stint as Head of Neurology.

Wilson was still Head of Oncology at Princeton Plainsboro. His days were a little more occupied, though. He had divorced wife number four, but had produced a child within the marriage. The daughter, Gina, was a more positive addition to his life than negative.

It was funny, when she thought about it. Here they all were, and she was the only one to truly break away. Within the confines of that Jersey hospital, everyone was a player in House's internal theatre. Everyone. Once Cameron had realized that, she suddenly couldn't bear the thought of it. Chase recognized it too, he had perhaps recognized it before anyone else. But he didn't break away, House still provided him with opportunities to push forward. Foreman still tolerated House, which was just enough and Wilson, well, Wilson would no sooner leave House than cut off his own arm. The guilt would be enough to suffocate him.

"Where have we been dispatched to?"

"Traffic accident. Supposed to be a bit messy."

Cameron winced sympathetically.

"And the vic is still alive?"

"Let's hope so."

There just wasn't enough room for her. That's all. Things had become tumultuous, even to the point of violent by the end of her internship. He wanted her there, in his little theatre, as an active player, but as the scapegoat. The one he could tease, could lead on a little string, to be discarded with when bored or when something more absorbing appeared. She had been hurt, she'll admit. They had shouting matches, verbal volleys in the hallways, ugly confrontations that sometimes upset nurses' trolleys in the hallways, spilling syringes and medical equipment to the spotless floor.

He had come to her apartment the night before she left. It was done, her two contract years were over, she had accepted a position elsewhere. Her stuff was all packed, her plane left in the morning.

He couldn't apologize for anything he said or the way he acted. Not out loud. His gestures spoke loud enough for him. They had kissed. They would have gone past kissing. His hand had caressed her stomach and there was something soft and something warm. She made the mistake of looking into his eyes. She saw the blue she was addicted to, the blue with a reflection of her face and the colour scheme was just wrong. She saw the strings of his internal theatre and panicked. She realized he was just as attached and slave to the web he had spun because without it he would fall, fall, fall. She fled. Their torturous love unconsummated.

"Oh Christ."

Ricky had caught her up to speed with the details. A motorcyclist had crashed with another car in the middle of the highway. The driver inside the car had a few scrapes and bruises but it was the motorcyclist who was severely injured. Apparently the bike had fallen sideways and the car drove right on top of it and its owner.

They were pulling up closer and the bright police lights and the people gathered around clued them into just how bad the situation was. The more people there are, the nastier the accident they're looking at. Morbid curiosity. The whole section of the highway was gridlocked.

They rushed up to the scene and the sight of the person lying in the middle of bloody asphalt made her stop cold.

"Allison."

She'd never heard, nor ever thought she'd hear her name uttered in addictive blue.

"Allison."

It was House. Lying in the middle of a blanket of cold pavement. Motorcycle crushing his legs and part of his torso. Bits of car and bike strewn around him. His stomach torn open, vulnerable pink and viscous red puddles about him where they shouldn't be.

She knelt beside him, hurriedly with Ricky, trying to get him on a stretcher, trying to put all his stuffing back inside as delicately and as quickly as they could. Her latex gloves were immediately slick, slick with a fluid so commonly seen by medical personnel, but something she thought was mythical, almost, considering who it came from. House wasn't supposed to bleed.

His eyes kept focusing and un-focusing on her, and his speech was labored.

"This…is so…under…your…station…"

"Don't talk, don't talk House. We need to get you in the ambulance."

"Don't…touch me!"

He didn't want to be put on the stretcher and struggled with them, wheezing in pain when he moved. She could smell the alcohol on his breath and felt exasperated and afraid for him. She looked at him incredulously and almost yelled,

"What do you think you're doing? What are you doing up here, why are you _here _House? Just what's been going through your head?"

She felt as if he were doing it again, playing games again. Why, of all people, was she seeing him dying before her? It was just something he would do, she couldn't help but feel resentment buried underneath everything else.

"You…left…"

"Of course I left, what was I going to do? Stay in New Jersey my whole life? I had other plans House, other things to do. It was time to move on."

"Allison, we need to get him in the ambulance."

"I…won't…last five…minutes…doesn't matter…"

She knew he was right. He was always goddamn right. She looked at him, worried, annoyed, frustrated, scared, deeply, deeply scared. He looked back, he was scared as well, scared of all the people gathered around, scared to look past his chest, scared to die. But he smiled, that trademark, infuriating smirk.

"You loved…me…"

"Yes I did."

"But…not now."

He looked at her a little puzzled. Every expression, every emotion manifests simpler in such a dire situation.

"Is that why you drove up here? To find out?"

He didn't say anything, just looked at her. Too weak to hold up his head.

"Not…not…"

"Not now."

"That's…okay I…don't love you…either…"

"You didn't back then either. But you did need me."

He raises an eyebrow in a silent, _Oh, really?_

"Yes you did. And now you must need me again for some reason or other. Did you come up here to start this whole ugly business again? More tension, more fights, more power games? Did you want to insult me, did you want to see me squirm again?"

He was about to retaliate but a deep cough in his chest prevented him from saying anything and she held him up, cradling his head so he could breathe. Blood stained his teeth pink and he couldn't continue.

"That's okay. I wouldn't have taken the bait anyway. It—"

"When did…you…become so…"

He can't find the right word but she smiles. She knows what it is he means, even though neither of them can articulate it. He looks a little petulantly up at her, it looks like she's laughing at him, and then she does. So proud, even to the very end.

"I'm dying…"

"I know."

"I…"

He tries to look down at himself, but she quickly turns his head away, keeping it from being able to see his mangled innards, making sure he can only see her. He breathes shallow, quick, afraid of what he almost saw, trying not to imagine it.

"Aren't as bad a man as you think. Okay?"

"Okay."

He coughs again, it catches in his throat and he convulses in her arms, fighting, fighting but ultimately losing. He came for an answer, she knows, an answer about himself. About whether he was strong enough to not play with her anymore, to not have to hurt someone else to validate his own superiority. To just leave things alone. But just the fact that he came down proved he had lost to begin with. That he was here for himself and not her. Once again dragging her into his internal theatre, not able to run a one-man show.

I saved you. She thinks. This crash too. Now he would die before any of that ugliness would begin again, he had won by default. Perhaps a loophole was the only way with the conundrum of House. It seemed he wouldn't mind that sort of ending at all, were he lucid enough to comprehend the thought.

"Okay All…ison…?"

"Okay."

He grew still, and all there was left to do was to close the eyelids over the still vibrant blue.


End file.
